


Like a Heartbeat

by TheMourningMadam



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:55:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24365398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMourningMadam/pseuds/TheMourningMadam
Summary: "A storm begins in the distance, looming and just out of reach...the thunder a soft drumming melody—like a heartbeat. It grows nearer, and the magnitude of the storm becomes apparent as it opens and unleashes its wrath, encompassing everything in its wake. And then it leaves, sometimes after only a short while, sometimes after a prolonged stay...like love."
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Kudos: 9





	Like a Heartbeat

Draco Malfoy had always loved thunderstorms, since he was a wee toddler. His mother had told him numerous stories of how dragons dwelled in the dark, swirling clouds. How lightning was the long plume of dragon's fire and thunder the rumbling of their roars. His namesake, dragons, and dragon-lore had always fascinated him and when he grew older and reflected back, he felt like his mother had tried to relate everything in his sheltered world to the beasts.

It was a strange feeling, being an adult and newly orphaned, and thinking back on his stern and shrewd mother tickling his little rounded toddler belly and chasing away nightmares with fantastic tales of grand dragons locked in a battle. He lay back in his bed and flicked his wand toward the window, lifting the curtain away and raising the glass pane slightly.

The blond wizard brought a cigarette to his lips and took a long drag before he blew a thin wisp of smoke into the air above where he had settled, a storm cloud of his own. He lay stark still, his right ankle crossed over his left, his left hand resting on his bare stomach, his only movement bringing the cigarette to his lips.

The quiet inhale and exhale of his breathing was interrupted by thunder, rumbling out past the Scottish mountainside. The clouds were massive and angry against an inky midnight sky, masking the moon and stars and casting a darkness over the land. The rain that had been threatening to fall for nearly an hour came upon them swiftly, fat and heavy raindrops that splashed and coated everything.

Flashes of lightning illuminated his dreary room and a loud clap of thunder sounded closer than before. He watched the storm unleash its wrath upon the earth, violent and tumultuous. With everything that had happened to him in the last week—the death of his wife and parents—he should be feeling much like the storm, turbulent and angry.

Instead, for the first time in nearly four years, a peculiar calm settled over him as he listened to the thunder and rain. He put the cigarette out in a glass of water on the nightstand next to him and then vanished the entire thing. His now idle hand drifted across his abdomen and touched his bandaged arm.

The pain in Draco's forearm had moved from being unbearable to a dull, aching throb. He could hear the soft footfall of a female outside of his door, hovering quietly. The individual was likely trying to listen through the oaken panel to find out if he were awake. He rolled his eyes when the predictable knock echoed through the room.

The individual—Granger, as it turned out—opened the door without invitation. Draco noted that she went initially to close it but seemingly decided against it and opened it all the way. He put his head back into his pillow as he watched her take a sniff and wrinkle her nose, her eyes scanning the room for the source of the smell.

Any other time, he had no doubt that she would have admonished him for his bad habits. But, considering who he _was_ and what he had _done_ , he ventured to guess that she found this particular vice was tame in comparison. "Malfoy," came her terse greeting.

In her hands, she held a shallow bowl, a cloth and a small box he knew contained various healing potions and salves. Since he had arrived three days prior, seeking asylum from the Order, he had remained holed up in this room. With a sigh, he turned his head away from her. "Granger," he replied, his voice hoarse and raspy with lack of use.

"I've come to clean your arm and redress the wounds," she stated simply, though her voice dripped with uncertain anxiety.

Draco noted the tense tone and turned to face her once more. "Get on with it then."

He watched Granger with rapt attention as she sat on the edge of his bed. Her eyes flickered toward the door and Draco knew it was because she did not trust him enough to be truly alone with him. She likely sided with the others and believed he was not genuine in his change of heart. Draco knew they all expected him to hex them at any moment and it was a gut-wrenching and sickening feeling.

Still, being in a home full of Light do-gooders was better than the alternative—living in the Manor where he would likely be the next one to die by the Dark Lord's hand. The wizard forced himself to compartmentalize and swallow down the memories of the last week, the deaths of his family.

Granger unraveled his bandages with nimble, though shaky, fingers and there was a sickening stretch of raw muscle, mended tendons and ligaments. The astute witch turned his forearm this way and that, looking for any further sign of damage. "I wish there was a way to cover this. Like a magical skin graft of some kind."

"I wasn't aware you cared," Draco drawled indolently.

For the first time since his arrival, her eyes rose to meet his. "I don't," her features were stone cold, "but if you're going to stay with the rest of us, we shouldn't be forced to look at this. It's hard enough not to gag at the sight of you."

The blond rolled his eyes at her sharp-tongued quip and put his head flush into his pillow, wincing as she began dabbing at the wound. A flash of lightning and a crash of thunder filtered in from his window and he felt her fingers tighten around him slightly. His eyes ventured to her face once more and he found her worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. "Are you afraid of thunderstorms?"

"I've hated them since I was a child. Booming shakes that rattle the entire house and cracks of lightning that could set a house ablaze in a matter of seconds. It's unnerving and unsettling," she told him, dripping a few sizzling drops of Essence of Dittany on his arm.

"Yes, but thunderstorms are predictable if you know what to look for," he argued lightly.

"How so?" she questioned, though her eyes darted toward the door subconsciously.

"A storm begins in the distance, looming and just out of reach. The lightning is a display of raw power, the thunder a soft drumming melody—like a heartbeat. It grows nearer, and the magnitude of the storm becomes apparent as it opens and unleashes its wrath, encompassing everything in its wake. And then it leaves, sometimes after only a short while, sometimes after a prolonged stay," Draco said quietly, feeling as though he were bearing entirely too much of himself by speaking so openly of his private thoughts.

"Like War," Granger conceded.

"Or love," he was quick to add, closing his eyes as he turned his face toward the cool breeze filtering in through the window.

The witch's hand stilled on his arm for a brief moment before she began wrapping a fresh bandage around it. She seemed not to know how to take a Death Eater spouting off about love and so remained quiet. Draco was grateful for her silence, exhausted by the conversation they had already shared.

"All done," she told him, placing his hand on his stomach where it had been when she entered.

Draco muttered a solemn thank you and Granger nodded once as she stood to go. She was nearly out of the door before he spoke once more. "Mermaid scales."

She turned her head so quickly, her curls bounced around her shoulders. "I beg your pardon?"

"Mermaid scales could act as a makeshift skin graft as the biological and cellular structure is closer to human skin than actual fish scales," he finished, turning his head away from her and looking out of the window at the storm once more, dismissing the witch.

o-o-o

**Author's Note:**

> Please review! This is a sneak peek of a future scene in His Sweet Oleander.


End file.
